


Warm Milk

by suziegon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Birth Control, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Flirting, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, Morning After, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Humor, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suziegon/pseuds/suziegon
Summary: It's First Day morning at the Amell estate and Hawke finds Isabela drinking in her kitchen. In this different kind of "morning after" story, Isabela tells Hawke about living with her husband.One-shot. No smut.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, folks! This year, I'm hoping to actually post more of the stuff I write. We'll see how that goes :p

Isabela’s side of the bed is still warm when Hawke wakes up. She frowns, rubs her face, and stumbles out of bed, reluctant to rise so early on a holiday. She tosses on her robe and ties it around her waist before venturing out of her room. There are no signs of life in the hall. None of her friends who stayed the night seem to be up. Even Bodhan is nowhere to be seen.

Hawke finds Isabela sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, a mug between her hands. She’s wearing a black robe, procured from Hawke's wardrobe as she’s wont to do. Sometimes she teases Isabela about the way she lays claim to her things without asking. Isabela's responses are reliably deflective and humorous. This morning, the mug she has is one of Hawke's favourites. It’s dwarven-crafted stone, polished smooth, with the Amell family crest engraved on one side. No one else touches her mug. They’ve learned not to from the way Hawke mysteriously appears at their side to pluck it from their grasp and replace it with another.

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Hawke teases, sitting beside her. Isabela knows as well as anyone that that’s her mug.

The thief takes a brazen swig, eyes glittering over the rim. "Don't worry, it's only milk."

Hawke squints, not sure she's heard right, and repeats, "Milk." Isabela isn’t known to drink much besides alcohol and water. She takes another sip and the ever-gracious host waits for her to volunteer an explanation.

"When I was married, my husband would insist on celebrating First Day eve together." She rolls her eyes. "On other occasions I’d be able to get myself out of it… mostly. It helped that he went away on business often. But First Day he never accepted excuses for.

“After that first time, I snuck out of his bed to the kitchen in a quiet panic. I knew what to take to prevent pregnancy, but I hadn’t had the time to prepare beforehand, and I had no idea what to take after the fact. Would the same herbs in the same doses work? Did it have to be stronger? Some of them could kill me if I took just a little too much.

“One of the servants found me, so early it was still dark. She took one look at me and put her hands on my shoulders, warm and steady. I calmed. She showed me how to brew the tonic I needed, warning me that I would bleed a little that night as a result. Blighted thing made me nauseous, but I choked it down, and when she was sure I’d finished it, she gave me some warm milk and honey. She stayed with me until she had to start her chores, telling stories more to distract me than to fill the silence. It was strange to be cared for like that. Strange but nice. Minerva was more a mother to me than mine ever was.”

“What happened to her when you left?”

A crease forms between Isabela’s brows and she digs her thumbnail into one of the mug’s etched lines. “She was gone by then. He’d caught on to my tricks, become more demanding, and one First Day, he discovered our ritual in the kitchen. He was furious. I thought he was going to beat me.” Her hands tighten around the mug, so hard they tremble, and her pitch drops. “Instead, he locked himself in a room with her and _broke_ her.” Her voice cracks and the next sentences are a whisper. “I could hear everything. And I couldn’t help her.

“I tried. _So hard_. My nails were torn, my hands were battered, and my shoulders were bruised from throwing myself at the door – but it wasn’t enough! All those times she’d helped me, shown me kindness, and when she needed me…” Guilty, helpless, angry golden eyes, _pleading_ for something. Understanding. Forgiveness. Redemption. She was looking into Hawke’s eyes but it wasn’t Hawke she was begging.

The wetness pooling in Isabela’s eyes threatens to spill over. She hastily shuts them and turns to face the wall ahead, taking a shallow breath. Then a deeper one. Gradually regaining control. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realizes she should want to run, or lash out, or at the very least feel embarrassed for showing such weakness in front of someone else. But as Isabela opens her eyes, Hawke’s gaze isn’t derogatory or condescending; it’s a mirror of her own.

Suddenly, she remembers Leandra. How urgently and fervently Hawke fought for her. How even this force of nature, who commands the elements and bends the very laws of nature to her will, couldn’t save her own mother. She also remembers the aftermath. The way she threw herself at innumerable quests to keep her mind occupied. The suspiciously frequent midnight trysts in Isabela’s room at the Hanged Man. The tear-soaked nightmares only she witnessed. And the playful mask that could fool almost anyone.

She’s halfway through choking out an apology when Hawke puts a hand on her wrist. Like Minerva’s, it’s warm and steady. “You tried your best, Isabela. That’s all we can do. Sometimes it’s enough, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes we make mistakes, but we keep trying.”

Yes, of course. That's why she broke her contract with the _Felicisima Armada_ to free those slaves. That's why she's the captain of her ship. That's why she came back for Hawke with the _Tome of Koslun_.

There’s a moment of silence before Hawke leans in and whispers, “Speaking of trying, I know we’ve been practicing a lot, but you realize I can’t actually get you pregnant, right? You didn’t need to drink any— Ow! I was joking!”

Hawke’s rubbing her upper arm, pouting at her, and reaching for her mug when, Isabela catches herself mid-giggle thinking three very affectionate and very alarming words. Her heart stutters. Before anything ridiculous slips out of her mouth, she gives Hawke a lingering kiss that _maybe_ conveys a _similar_ message, and instead says, “Happy First Day, Hawke.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feb 13/17 - I was looking over this because I was in the mood to edit and... It seems I've changed a lot from the original post. This one feels more focused to me. Please, let me know what you think! I may or may not get around to updating the one on fanfiction.net.


End file.
